


Shots Pulled/Fired

by kiss_the_apex



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Because I Have A Problem, F/M, and his name is Sebastian Vettel, apart from anger and cutesiness, but nothing much happens, coffee shop AU, shameless self-insertion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 03:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_the_apex/pseuds/kiss_the_apex
Summary: There's a particular customer who always sits on the same table, in the same seat and there's just something about his face that makes you want to punch / kiss it and your brain can't decide which one it wants. Or, the shameless self-insertion coffee shop AU that I absolutely had to write.
Relationships: Sebastian Vettel/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Shots Pulled/Fired

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chasingpegasus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingpegasus/gifts).

> Thanks to Kate for planting the seed for this. Look at what you've done!!

He was sat there again. In that same corner, in the same chair, on that same laptop. 

_Him_.

You scowled behind the coffee machine, turning the steam knob with far more force that was strictly necessary. Why did he insist on sitting directly in your eyeline every damn time he came in? It was a … _distraction_. And not in a good way, definitely not in a good way.

You didn’t even know his name, because this wasn’t one of those stupid coffee shops that wrote names on takeaway cups. You didn’t even _do_ takeaway cups, instead you served take-out coffee in mini glass jam jars, for an extra deposit. Much better.

“I see your favourite customer is in again?” Lydia appears at your side, grinning as she ties her apron around her waist

You grunt in response, turning off the milk steamer with a flick of your wrist, slamming the metal jug of hot milk down on the counter.

“He doesn’t even _care_ about coffee! Why is he even here all the time? And you know he sits in that seat just to annoy me.”

Lydia makes a terrible attempt at stifling a laugh, and that only pisses you off more. 

“Oh you have it bad.”

You almost physically recoil at this, your eyes widening and your voice spluttering. She was so far off the mark it wasn’t even funny.

“I do not have _anything!_ Bad or otherwise!”

Because, well, ew. Those terrible grey knitted jumpers were enough to put you off wool for life. And that _haircut_. Please. 

Lydia’s eyes twinkled at your reaction. “Oh look, he’s coming up for a re-order!” She whispers excitedly, and then has the absolute gall to _walk away_, to pretend that she’s busy doing something else so you’ll have to take the order. You think she even winks as she disappears around the corner.

It is not your job to take orders, it’s your job to make the coffee. This action pushes you from just merely angry into pissed-as-fuck territory.

He approaches the bar with a ridiculous half-smile on his face, his eyes scanning the menu like he doesn’t already know what he’s going to order. He only orders one drink, every time.

A flat white - even worse - a _decaf_ flat white.

While you’re busy being torn between being mad at Lydia and being mad at this idiotic guy you actually end up staring at him, hoping that you’ve suddenly developed laser-heat-vision and maybe you can burn that stupid look off his stupid face.

His eyes are big and blue - a dark, swirling blue, like deep water. They dominate his face. There’s scruffy stubble on his chin, the same dirty blond colour as his slightly tousled hair. He has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, and he’s still pretending to read the menu.

“Ahem.” You cough loudly, with your arms tightly folded across your chest.

He turns those blue eyes on you then, looking down slightly as you’re only 5’3” and he definitely has a few inches on you. 

“Ah, sorry.” There’s that slight accent. You reckon he must be German, or has spent a significant amount of time there. He says “ah” in an infuriating way.

“Can I have another flat white please. Decaf, sorry.” He’s apologised twice in the space of ten seconds and you want to throttle him. Why is he still smiling like that?!

“Yeah sure.” You punch in his order on the iPad screen that doubles as a till, assigning the drink to his table. “I’ll bring it over in a sec.”

You don’t look at him again, turning aside to get back to the coffee machine, which is why you don’t see Lydia come barreling out of nowhere with an armful of spoons and run directly into the guy.

“Oh! I’m so sorry Mister--” Lydia apologises as she bends down to pick up the stack of teaspoons she’s scattered across the floor.

“Sebastian.” He replies, in that slight accent, smiling as he goes to help her gather the cutlery.

_Sebastian. Ridiculous_. You think. You roll your eyes at Lydia’s incredibly non-subtle way of getting a name out of him. She catches your eye and grins like a bloody cat.

_Sebastian_ passes a handful of spoons back to her, smiles again and weaves his way through the other tables to get back to his seat. You absolutely do not watch him go.

Of course he has some kind of long-winded flouncy name like Sebastian. Four syllables! Clearly way too many for one name. 

You grind the decaf beans as noisily as you can, shoving the portafilter into it’s slot so it locks into place with a click. As you press the button to pull the shot you chance a glance up over the machine and infuriatingly Sebastian is looking over at you. You lock gazes for one, two, three seconds. Nobody beats you in a stare-off. Nobody. You scowl at him, silently willing him to break the stare, and his eyes crinkle at the sides as his face breaks into a smile. A proper one, with teeth and everything.

Then he shakes his head slightly and goes back to looking down at his laptop.

And you are _furious._

You have no idea what this guy has done to trigger this reaction in you, but you suddenly and irrationally want to punch things. You let out a throaty growl and a nearby customer looks over at you, startled.

“Sorry.” You bite out.

You re-heat the milk in the jug and begin to pour it onto Sebastian’s espresso shot, initially going to do the regular boring latte art blob, but then oh something much more apt comes to mind and you switch your hold on the cup.

It’s time for one of your famous cockacchinos.

You smile for what feels like the first time that day as you inspect your handiwork. A perfect little milk-dick with a lovely spurt out of the top. Your finest work.

You place the cup onto it’s matching saucer and walk it over to Sebastian’s table, carefully wiping the grin from your face. Can’t let him think you’re pleased.

He looks away from his screen to the coffee, then up to you, then back to the coffee, trying to process what he’s seeing. You’re waiting for a frown, or some kind of noise of indignation, but it doesn’t come. Instead what you get is a _laugh_. A low chuckle escapes his lips and it’s the most irritating/wonderful sound you’ve ever heard.

_Wonderful?_

What the fuck? You hate the guy, you decidedly do not like the sound of his laugh, not at all, even though suddenly it’s all you can think about.

“Thank you for this.” Sebastian says, those maddening eyes shining with mirth as he looks up at you. You can feel yourself blush, for fucks sake, get a grip. He’s still looking at you, waiting for a reply or a witty retort.

“Yeah well..” You stumble. What has happened to your brain?! “Enjoy.” You finally get out, and then execute the fastest 180 degree turn you’ve ever made in your life to get away from him and that damn look he was giving you.

“Why are you so red?” Lydia asks from her spot behind the bar as you stalk across the shop.

“_HIm._” You growl, flinging your arm in Sebastian’s general direction.

“Ah I see.” She looked over at him, he was sipping his coffee delicately. “I assume he embarrassed you horribly?”

At some point your palms had begun to sweat, you wiped them on your apron while casting Lydia what you hoped was a withering look, but with the current state of your rosy cheeks was probably not.

“He.. laughed at my latte art.” You seeth.

“Ha! Did you make him a cockacchino? I bet you did. You can’t help yourself.” She laughs, her brown eyes twinkling. “Now do you see what I mean? About having it bad? This is _classic._”

You whirl at her. “I do not like him! I can’t stand him! Just _look_ at him, sat there with his fucking laptop doing god-knows-what, drinking his decaf fucking flat white, looking like a fucking.. a fucking.. IDIOT!”

It’s at this point, when you’re standing there, your breaths coming hard and fast and loud, that you realise you’ve just yelled about your dislike for Sebastian to the entire silent shop. With a lot of swearing.

Lydia stares at you, dumbfounded, her mouth open in a perfect little ‘o’. You wince and both turn simultaneously to look at the offending party in the corner, and find him with his coffee cup halfway to his lips and a slight flush creeping over his cheeks.

To his credit, he smoothly finishes his drink and closes his laptop, placing it in his backpack.

By the time he’s walked up to the bar with his wallet out ready to pay off his bill, you feel like your face is literally on fire. Luckily a low chatter has started up again as the other customers got back to their respective conversations, thank goodness.

Lydia elbows you forwards like the absolute bastard she is.

Sebastian clears his throat. “I’m sorry that my presence has offended you in some way.”

You start to say something, to apologise, but he continues quietly, his eyes looking anywhere but directly at you.

“But I come to this particular shop because the atmosphere is - usually - nice, and you make the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

And now he chooses to look at you properly, there’s something like two feet separating you and you feel like you might drown in those fathomless eyes as you can’t seem to catch a proper breath. He does that stupid half-smile again and your traitorous heart does a funny little skip inside your chest.

He breaks the connection and takes a crisp ten pound note from his wallet and passes it over to you. You’re still painfully, excruciatingly aware that you haven’t said a word to him.

Your hand goes out automatically to take the cash and in doing so your fingers brush his unintentionally. His skin is warm from holding the coffee cup. Gods, you wish the floor would just open up and swallow you right now.

“I..” You stutter. “I’m sorry.” It sounds squeaky and pathetic, even to your own ears.

“Hey don’t worry about it.” He puts his hand up to signify that you can keep the change. There’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s making some kind of inside-joke that only you and him are part of.

And then he says something completely unexpected that has your stomach doing a freefall:

“See you tomorrow.” 

He smiles a secret smile at you and you alone, like he knows _exactly_ why you ranted and _exactly_ why you frown every time he enters the shop, and _exactly_ why you made him a coffee with a goddamn penis on it.

Everything has turned upside-down. Finally, after what seems like eons and eons, you gather yourself. 

You return his small smile, and then you give him your best scowl.

Sebastian laughs and - oh, there’s that heart skip again - shakes his head. He nods once at Lydia, who is still blissfully mute next to you, and leaves the shop.

You let out a breath that you weren’t even aware you were holding and drop your head onto the counter-top with a dull thud.

“Jesus _Christ_.” Comes the reaction from Lydia, seemingly giving voice to your own thoughts.

You let out a loud groan in reply, the sound magnified. “Don’t say it.”

“I-”

“I said _do not._”

“I told you so.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well then. There's probably scope for a continuation of this tale, but maybe it's best to leave it as an open-ended one shot (lol, shot). Let me know what you think? As always, I can be found on tumblr at kiss-the-apex, flailing about racecar drivers.


End file.
